The Terror of the Night
by Kate Lawrence
Summary: “She’s back!” is whispered throughout the city, but only a few truly know who SHE is, and even fewer recognize her. She is this city’s Terror, a Terror of the Night. *rated for violence* R/R!
1. Default Chapter

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Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, Disney does, and I don't own any character in this story they own themselves.  
  
Prologue: The Terror  
  
Spring filled the crisp air. The scent of flowers recently bloomed consumed you with certain happiness. The mornings (early mornings) were filled with a refreshing spring silence, a silence only broken by the joyful cries of newsies hawking the headlines. Yet on May 27, the morning stillness was broken with the resounding noise of a gun, followed by a single shrill cry that echoed through the receding darkness. Only moments later the message was being passed throughout the city of New York.  
  
"She's back!" was whispered through the city, yet only a few truly know who SHE is, and even fewer will be able to recognize her. She is the Terror of the Night.  
  
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	2. The Pistol of Death

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Chapter One: The Pistol of Death  
  
She moved silently and swiftly through the silent, dark streets of Harlem. If you looked closely you could see her shadow as she dashed from corner to corner. As she reached her destination she slowed ever so slightly and was more silent than ever. Her eyes continuously darted back and forth, suddenly locking on her victim. Stopping in mid step, she paused for a split second before she crept closer. Like a cat moving towards its prey, she advanced towards her unknowing victim. And just when she seemed to have gotten as close as she could without attracting attention she stepped out into the open revealing herself to the three men that would soon taste the bitter sweetness of Death.  
  
"Hiya boys!" she exclaimed, a dangerous smirk on her face that, although they couldn't see it, it sent shivers down their spines. Three shots rang through the night air, muffling the screams of the three unlucky people; those that she assassinated.  
  
She coldly and heartlessly blew the dust from her pistol, then through the stillness of the night she walked cockily away from the assassinated.  
  
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Truent circled the three bodies, identifying them as three of his own. "Cocker, Chaim, and Gamblah'." He whispered reverently, almost choking as he spoke. The silence that followed seemed to drag on forever and his loyal newsies bowed their heads in respect for the three fallen comrades.  
  
"She was here." Truent said softly, his voice hoarse, and rough. In the next few moments her name was whispered through the crowd, like a ripple in water, it spread. "Terror was here."  
  
Truent suddenly fell to his knees, tears were visibly flowing down his cheeks. Lifting his face to the sky he let out a cry of horror, pain, and anguish for his most loyal three. "Brooklyn!" he screamed. "I have done nothing to you! Nothing! Yet you send your assassinator, your Terror, here to distinguish my most faithful and loyal three! Why!" He screamed his words of anguish into the air begging for people to hear his pain, but they only came back to him, bouncing off the cold alley walls.  
  
Truent sat there silently crying, and mourning the loss of his good friends, as two of his newsies carried them off to the Harlem Lodging House for holding till they could give them a proper burial, in a watery grave.  
  
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The Next Day:  
  
Again she crept through the dark alleyways, seeking her victim, only this time it was in Queens that she sought her prey. Creeping about, her shadow always close behind, she resembled a lion, "roaming about, seeking whom it may devour". As she darted in and out of alleyways she repeated over and over again the name of her next victim: Harts. She repeated his name till she was subconsciously whispering it into the still, night air. She'd memorized his features during the day as she stalked him, and now, after sleeping for only a few hours, was she out to destroy this innocent soul.  
  
She finally found him in an alleyway, alone, smoking and drinking. He was leaning drunkenly against the brick wall, every now and then laughing a drunken laugh, almost a giggle. She smiled maniacally. Enjoying her job, savoring it. She carefully chose her time, and stepped out of the shadows, instantly putting her pistol to his head. Stupidly he turned to look at his attacker, and being drunk did not recognize her for who she was. Yet he knew the minute he felt her dangerous smirk cross her face, and his face twisted with horror as she spoke.  
  
"Heya Harts!" Her greeting seemed almost friendly, cheerful, but it simply marked the death of another victim. A single shot split the night silence in two, and a second one killed the silence altogether.  
  
Blowing the dust off her pistol, she gathered herself together and immediately disappeared into the shadows. Finishing her job for the night.  
  
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She was ruthless. Creeping through the night, killing them off as if they were an overpopulated species. Cold hearted, and without mercy did she carry out her horrible tasks. Victim after victim did she distinguish, until it became a nightly sport. You could almost say she enjoyed it.  
  
Her name was only whispered among the working children of New York, for fear that she might hear them and, in her perverted way, pick them as her next target.  
  
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	3. They rise as one

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Chapter Two: They rise as One  
  
Critic tearfully looked down at the body her newsies had found in an alleyway early that morning. Painfully she studied the latest victim, her brother and best friend. Her eyes traveled along his cold body to his face. She winced as she studied the two clean bullet holes in his head, and she knew that Terror had struck. "Ya gone Harts." She whispered, being careful not to let her newsies hear her. "Ya promised ya wouldn't leave me heah alone."  
  
"Ya ain't alone Chief." A strong, male voice comforted her from the shadows. Critic waited for him to come forward, but when he didn't she turned to him.  
  
"Shadow, git out heah." Although her voice wavered it was still commanding, and Shadow knew that it was a dangerous thing to defy Critic. He stepped out of the shadows and reverently walked towards her.  
  
"Whatchya gonna do 'bout it Chief?" he asked, knowing full well what she was going to do.  
  
"I want ya to send a messenger to Harlem and da Bronx." She started, but faltered when she glanced at her brother again. "Send one to Manhattan too. I want to know exactly how many are dead from each, and who. Then we're gonna go to the Cobra." Shadow nodded his head. He'd known this was coming sooner or later, but he'd expected it long ago. Silently and quickly he left Critic to herself as he went to find Deer and send him on his way.  
  
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Deer darted quickly through the smaller streets of Harlem, New York. Swiftly making his way towards the Lodging House where he knew Truent would be. Upon arriving at the Lodging House he stopped for a second or two to regain his breath before opening the old, creeky door and entering an almost forbidden domain. Stepping inside he stopped in place while his eyes adjusted to the darkness, but those few seconds were to long and he was instantly grabbed from behind and a knife was pressed to his throat.  
  
"Who are ya, an' why're ya heah?" growled the voice of the boy who was holding him. Deer gulped and glanced down towards his neck.  
  
"I'se Deer from Queens, an' I'se heah ta talk ta Truent." He answered fearfully. The boy who held him heard the fear in Deer's voice and laughed, but loosened his hold.  
  
"An' why d'ya wanna talk ta Truent?" he asked.  
  
"Terror." Deer whispered the name so that the boy had to strain to hear the name, but when he heard his face turned white and he immediately brought the knife from Deer's throat.  
  
"Yer's too huh?" he asked respectfully, almost sadly. Deer simply nodded. There was nothing to say.  
  
"Come on then." Deer was led up a flight of crickety stairs and into another dimly lit room that was scarcely furnished room.  
  
"This is Deer, from Queens. He's here 'bout Terror." Deer's escort introduced him, and deer made out a faint nod of a head from across the room. He was instantly left alone to face the leader the Harlem newsies, Truent.  
  
"What do you want?" The pain was evident in Truent's voice. Deer noticed this and determined to make his stay short and to the point.  
  
"Who was it?" he asked bluntly, but respectfully. There was a shuffling at the other end of the room and grunt of disapproval.  
  
"Gamblah, Cocker, and Chaim."  
  
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Deer hesitantly approached the Bronx leader, Viper. "Who was it?"  
  
"Name, borrough, an' why ya heah."  
  
"Deer, Queens, an' Terror." The last name was again whispered in fear. "Who'd she get?" he asked again.  
  
"Cynic."  
  
Deer raised an eyebrow. "A goil?" he asked.  
  
Viper nodded his head and repeated her name. "Cynic."  
  
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"Who was it this time?" Deer asked as he approached Strike, the leader of Manhattan at the time.  
  
Strike looked Deer over and then looked away sadly. "Echo, an' Meter."  
  
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"Harlem was Gamblah', Cocker, an' Chaim. Bronx was Cynic, an' Manhattan was Echo, an' Meter." Deer repeated the information to his leader.  
  
Critic sadly nodded her head. Anyone close to a leader was being targeted this time. Where Terror would strike next was unknown, but hopefully preventable. "You did good Deer, but one more thing. Get Tricks for me. I need to talk to him right away."  
  
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Cobra turned at the sound of footsteps coming towards him. A sadistic grin came over his face and his green eyes glinted with malicious intent as he recognized the newsie that cautiously came towards him.  
  
"Tricks." He hissed the name, and licked his lips imagining delicious tortures that he would enjoy putting her through.  
  
"King Cobra." Tricks acknowledged him, while struggling to keep a straight face.  
  
"Yes." His surly voice sent shivers through Tricks body, and sour bile built up in her mouth in repulsion for Cobra.  
  
"I've come with a message from Truent, Critic, Viper, and Strike. They ask you to stop the murders. Call off your assassin." Tricks struggled to keep any emotion from her voice or from showing on her face.  
  
"Or what?" growled Cobra. "Or they'll come after me with sticks and stones? They'll teem up together to eliminate my unruly group and me?" he spat out. "Ha!"  
  
Tricks shuffled her feet before answering. "Or they'll take matters into their own hands."  
  
"Ha! So I thought! Well I have a little message of my own." He turned and paced back and forth deliberately attempting to make Tricks nervous. He stopped abruptly and sneered at her. "I could kill you, ya know, but as I am feeling merciful today, I simply give you this." Suddenly his hand snaked out from behind him, and viciously slashed her left cheek with his knife. Tricks then let out a cry of pain and her hand flashed towards her cheek. "You tell them that I Scoff at their request. Tell them that I will pick them off one by one."  
  
Tricks glared at Cobra, but soon her eyes fell to the ground and she took off running for Manhattan, and safety.  
  
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"He did this to you?!" the anger in Strikes voice was beyond anything anyone had heard before. Tricks nodded, then winced in pain as Critic continued to clean up the wound.  
  
"That scabbah! I'll kill 'im!" Truent shouted violently.  
  
"That is exactly what I have in mind." Critic said calmly. "We're sendin' our own assassin aftah 'im."  
  
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Much thanks to my Beta Reader: Katherine McRae!!! You are SOOOOOOO awesome!!!!  
  
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End file.
